What have I done?
What have I done?
I hate this.
I am osteopoenic.
I can't believe that in my head I was bargaining with God; please God, if you fix my bones I won't mind being a little bit on the bigger side of normal. Then I paused, scratch that. I don't want to be fat! I would rather look "healthy" than be it. What is wrong with me?! What have I done? Regret is catching up with me and I am looking back on the last six years in disgust. In regret. In hate towards myself.
I hate that I will probably pace after dinner, or after I finish writing this. I hate that I will feel guilty for eating or overeating. I hate it. I hate it all. I hate that I texted my doctor to tell him that and he probably just thinks I'm an idiot. He would be right. I hate that I have ruined my body over some forgotten aesthetics. They weren't even pretty.
I hate that I would take out the vitamin D from my eggs; yes, the yolk. I would leave that out. I still do sometimes. I hate that I skimp on high fat dairy products. I hate that I was not able to provide enough nutrition to my own body, the one I will be stuck with FOREVER (my forever). I am angry at all these people I was trying to impress. Just "people." No-one specific. Maybe sometimes.
I hate the curtain I drew between my health and my head. I hate the dirty choices I made and continue to make. This eating disorder (there, I said it. In all it's non-acronym glory) is like a paralysis. I know what I have to do and what I should not do, but I don't and I do, respectively.
I can't be a real doctor because my body is not perfect. It does not work as it should. I thought I had normal imperfections, the ones that are superficial and won't mean much in five, ten, fifteen years, even I know that. The ones like "my hips aren't big enough" and "I have marks on my face" and "my weight is only around my abdominal area." The imperfections that would not have made a difference to my health. Now I have real imperfections. Something is wrong inside.
I am angry at my kidneys, I am angry at my skin, I am angry at my periods for not returning, and I am so angry at (bear with me while I remember the pathophysiology of osteoporosis) the hormones inside me not doing their job. I don't want- no, think before you speak, Naina. That's what landed you here in the first place.
What did I just read? I read that caffeine and salt may cause osteopoenia. I am currently drinking my one cup of milky coffee a day. Milk=good. Caffeine=bad. I do not want to take this risk. I don't want it. But this is how the illness began. I started to reduce "unhealthy" foods such as sugar and oil and then I cut them out completely. That is why I got sick, because there was no middle ground.
Eating disorders are an illness of extremities. Orthorexia* means you cut out everything deemed even slightly "bad." Anorexia means you starve. Bingeing means you eat too much. Purging is somewhere when you want the best of both worlds. Eat everything, get rid of everything.
It is an illness of short term "gains" (losses, whatever) and long term losses.
Why isn't ED happy now? I'll slowly disappear as my bones fall off. ED is sitting in a corner, slouching like a child who made a huge mistake and is being punished by his mother. Dad's come home, and if Dad is angry, something is very wrong. Well, Dad is angry. He is very very angry. You know, he is disappointed. He is upset. That is even worse than yelling. Silent treatment.
This isn't even a parent-child relationship. Parents care for their children. I would willingly kill ED. I would hang him and torture him and make it wish it was never born, because I do wish it were never born. I want to stab him and pull out his insides and kick him after he dies. If I were ever to kill someone, something, this would be it.
I feel like the damage is done, and I know me. I know that once I make that one error that ruins the painting, I leave it alone. But I don't want it to get worse, and it can, so I am going to kill ED tonight. I will take it by the neck while it is silent and commit a horrendous murder. I will not plead guilty because I am not. ED was never meant to be and I never want him back in my life ever again.
WHAT THE FUCK HAVE I DONE?!
*Orthorexia is not defined as a mental illness or ED in the DSM, but I think it should. That's what started me off.
I hate this.
I am osteopoenic.
I can't believe that in my head I was bargaining with God; please God, if you fix my bones I won't mind being a little bit on the bigger side of normal. Then I paused, scratch that. I don't want to be fat! I would rather look "healthy" than be it. What is wrong with me?! What have I done? Regret is catching up with me and I am looking back on the last six years in disgust. In regret. In hate towards myself.
I hate that I will probably pace after dinner, or after I finish writing this. I hate that I will feel guilty for eating or overeating. I hate it. I hate it all. I hate that I texted my doctor to tell him that and he probably just thinks I'm an idiot. He would be right. I hate that I have ruined my body over some forgotten aesthetics. They weren't even pretty.
I hate that I would take out the vitamin D from my eggs; yes, the yolk. I would leave that out. I still do sometimes. I hate that I skimp on high fat dairy products. I hate that I was not able to provide enough nutrition to my own body, the one I will be stuck with FOREVER (my forever). I am angry at all these people I was trying to impress. Just "people." No-one specific. Maybe sometimes.
I hate the curtain I drew between my health and my head. I hate the dirty choices I made and continue to make. This eating disorder (there, I said it. In all it's non-acronym glory) is like a paralysis. I know what I have to do and what I should not do, but I don't and I do, respectively.
I can't be a real doctor because my body is not perfect. It does not work as it should. I thought I had normal imperfections, the ones that are superficial and won't mean much in five, ten, fifteen years, even I know that. The ones like "my hips aren't big enough" and "I have marks on my face" and "my weight is only around my abdominal area." The imperfections that would not have made a difference to my health. Now I have real imperfections. Something is wrong inside.
I am angry at my kidneys, I am angry at my skin, I am angry at my periods for not returning, and I am so angry at (bear with me while I remember the pathophysiology of osteoporosis) the hormones inside me not doing their job. I don't want- no, think before you speak, Naina. That's what landed you here in the first place.
What did I just read? I read that caffeine and salt may cause osteopoenia. I am currently drinking my one cup of milky coffee a day. Milk=good. Caffeine=bad. I do not want to take this risk. I don't want it. But this is how the illness began. I started to reduce "unhealthy" foods such as sugar and oil and then I cut them out completely. That is why I got sick, because there was no middle ground.
Eating disorders are an illness of extremities. Orthorexia* means you cut out everything deemed even slightly "bad." Anorexia means you starve. Bingeing means you eat too much. Purging is somewhere when you want the best of both worlds. Eat everything, get rid of everything.
It is an illness of short term "gains" (losses, whatever) and long term losses.
Why isn't ED happy now? I'll slowly disappear as my bones fall off. ED is sitting in a corner, slouching like a child who made a huge mistake and is being punished by his mother. Dad's come home, and if Dad is angry, something is very wrong. Well, Dad is angry. He is very very angry. You know, he is disappointed. He is upset. That is even worse than yelling. Silent treatment.
This isn't even a parent-child relationship. Parents care for their children. I would willingly kill ED. I would hang him and torture him and make it wish it was never born, because I do wish it were never born. I want to stab him and pull out his insides and kick him after he dies. If I were ever to kill someone, something, this would be it.
I feel like the damage is done, and I know me. I know that once I make that one error that ruins the painting, I leave it alone. But I don't want it to get worse, and it can, so I am going to kill ED tonight. I will take it by the neck while it is silent and commit a horrendous murder. I will not plead guilty because I am not. ED was never meant to be and I never want him back in my life ever again.
WHAT THE FUCK HAVE I DONE?!
*Orthorexia is not defined as a mental illness or ED in the DSM, but I think it should. That's what started me off.
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